Little Ladies (Sansa Stark)
by Kiara Biersack
Summary: 'This city is full of spies, Sansa Stark. Best to hope that we can keep ourselves away from Cersei's prying eyes.'
1. Chapter One

It was time for the Hand of the King's tourney. Everyone in King's Landing was in noticeably high spirits, even Dyana, who typically didn't very much enjoy tourneys. But this one was an exception. Her older brother, Loras, was going to be competing.

It was only Dyana and Loras who resided currently in King's Landing. Their sister, Margaery, was still in Highgarden with their father, Mace, and their grandmother, Olenna. Loras had wishes to be a famous knight, and how better to become one, than to go to King's Landing and make friends with King Robert. Dyana, on the other hand, was there for a very different matter.

Mace wanted his daughter married.

Dyana wouldn't have typically minded the idea of a marriage. But her father, gods bless the poor oaf, had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Margaery, who was eighteen, was unwed. Twenty-three-year-old Loras was unwed. Sixteen-year-old Dyana was unwed. It seemed to be a pattern with Lord Tyrell; he could never seem to find eligible suitors for his children, who, if it had not been for their terribly stupid father, should have been highly sought after spouses.

To keep in theme of Mace's inability to find his children suitors, he'd sent Dyana and Loras to make sure they would attend the tourney. He hoped that at least one of them would be able to charm a noble and give them the prospect of a marriage.

As the stands filled in with nobles, and handmaidens, and servants, Dyana found herself in a seat just above the Stark daughters. Lord Eddard was the new Hand of the King, and, as such, he now resided in the Red Keep. With him were two daughter. The thirteen-year-old Sansa, who was betrothed to Prince Joffrey, and eleven-year-old Arya. Their Septa, a stern looking woman who kept her hair covered in a scarf, was sat beside Arya, most likely keeping the young girl in line.

Sansa was turned in her seat, blue eyes staring sadly at Prince Joffrey. Dyana couldn't help but smile at the girl. She'd heard rumors about the fourteen-year-old prince, and she felt a surge of pity for the lovely red-haired girl that sat in front of her. Sansa offered Joffrey a smile when he caught her gaze. But the prince simply adjusted in his chair, looking away.

"Lover's quarrel?" a voice spoke up.

Both Sansa and Dyana's heads snapped up, their eyes landing on the form of Lord Petyr Baelish. A house that was once small and ran by hedge knights, now fell nearly extinct into the hands of King's Landing's Master of Coin, it's only remaining lord. The sigil of House Baelish was once a titan's head, but now took on the form of a simple mockingbird. Petyr wore a pin of his sigil with pride.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said to him. "Do I..."

"Sansa dear, this is Lord Baelish, he's known- -" the septa began.

"An old friend of the family," Petyr interrupted, waving a hand apologetically toward the old woman.

He sat beside Sansa, smiling brightly. "I've known your mother a long, long time," he noted.

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya spoke up.

"Arya!" Sansa scolded.

"Don't be rude," the septa joined.

But Petyr continued smiling, his dark eyes only raising to meet Arya's once. "No, it's quite all right," he said with a chuckle. "When I was a child, I was very small, and I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers, so you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname."

The king suddenly rose from his seat. "I've been sitting here for days!" he shouted. "Start the damn joust before I piss myself!"

Queen Cersei stood as well, her proud face filled with annoyance. Her green eyes scanned the crowd before she brushed past Sandor Clegane, prince Joffrey's personal guard that much of the castle referred to as 'the Hound', leaving the tourney field.

Ser Gregor Clegane rode out onto the field on a black warhorse. His armor was all black, covering him completely and making his imposing figure seem like some sort of a malevolent beast. Cheers rose up from the crowd; if the Mountain was competing, it was sure to be a good show. His competitor rode in next; Ser Hugh of Vale. He'd once been a squire to Lord Jon Arryn, before the old Hand of the King died of fever.

"Gods, who is that?" Sansa asked.

Dyana wanted to answer, but Lord Baelish beat her to it. "Ser Gregor Clegane," he said. "They call him the Mountain. The Hound's older brother."

"And his opponent?" Sansa said.

"Ser Hugh of the Vale. He was Jon Arryn's squire. Look how far he's come."

Gregor opened the hatch in his helm, nodding bluntly at King Robert, his dark eyes intimidating anyone who dared to meet them. Hugh nodded next.

"Yes, yes, enough of the bloody pomp," Robert stated. "Have at it!"

The men rode to other sides of the field. Each was handed a lance and a shield next. It was sure to be Gregor, she knew, but even still she wanted to pay her utmost attention.

Suddenly, the two men were riding at each other. Their lances barely missed each other, and they continued riding. They stopped and waited, and then rode again.

This was it. Dyana focused on Gregor's lance, chewing her lip anxiously. It was aimed toward Hugh's own lance, angled upward. She decided that the Mountain wished to break his opponent's weapon. But what good would that do him?

Her question was answered quickly, however. Hugh's lance shattered, and there was a sudden flash of red as a large splinter found it's way into his throat. He was thrown from his horse in moments. There was screaming, Sansa's high shriek rising above the rest. Dyana went stiff, her blue eyes unblinking, and her hands shaking at her sides.

Sansa and Arya's septa held her hands to her mouth, eyes wide. Arya held an expression of grotesque wonder and shock. Even Petyr was rigid in his seat, his face slack. Robert rose from his chair.

Ser Hugh lie in the dirt, flat on his back. The shard of wood was imbedded deep in his gullet. With each breath he tried to take, blood drained from the wound. There was nothing anyone could do except wait for him to die. He coughed, blood spurting up from his mouth and spattering across his cheek. This happened several times. Blood bubbled in his mouth, draining down his neck and onto his armor.

Flies already buzzed around him.

By the time he died, all conversation in the stands had stopped. Two squires hurried out onto the field, picking up the body and carrying it away.

Quiet murmurs returned to the people.

Petyr looked at Sansa. "Not what you were expecting?" he asked, and she shook her head slowly. "Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?"

Petyr's voice lowered to a whisper, but Dyana could still hear him. "Lovely little tale of brotherly love," he said. "The Hound was just a pup, six years old maybe. Gregor a few years older, already a big lad, already getting a bit of a reputation. Some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence. One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire, Gregor's toy, a wooden knight. Gregor never said a word. He just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there while the boy screamed, while his face melted. There aren't very many people who know that story."

"I won't tell anyone," Sansa said softly. "I promise."

"No, please don't. If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I'm afraid all the knights in King's Landing would not be able to save you."

Both Sansa and Dyana were silent. Dyana turned in her seat, looking at Sandor Clegane. At the twisted scars that covered the side of his face. When he turned and looked at her, she turned quickly.

Petyr looked up, and for a moment, she could have sworn he smiled. Like she was meant to have heard the story. Like it was intended for her to know this secret.

Little did Dyana know, but secrets were something she was going to have to get used to in King's Landing.


	2. Chapter Two

When it was time for the second round of the tourney, Dyana quickly made way for her seat from the day prior. She found the Starks already seated. Eddard, who had been absent during the first round, seemed to have replaced Arya, who was missing. "Lord Eddard," she addressed politely.

Eddard turned in his seat, offering a smile. "Lady Tyrell," he replied.

"Oh, please, just call me Dyana. My sister is Lady Tyrell."

"Well, it's good to meet you, Dyana."

She smiled, nodding. "Good to meet you, too."

Sansa didn't look at Dyana. She watched Gregor ride in, stopping before the king. "Where's Arya?" Eddard asked his eldest daughter.

"At her dancing lessons," Sansa replied.

She straightened considerably in her seat when Loras rode out, a red rose in his hand and an expression of uncaring elegance on his handsome face. "The Knight of the Flowers," she grinned.

Loras made his way to the stands, smiling as he held out the rose to Sansa. "Thank you, Ser Loras," she said joyfully.

His gaze flitted to Dyana. "Sister dear," he noted.

"Loras," she smiled.

She saw his eyes dart above her, however. Toward the seat she knew contained Renly Baratheon, King Robert's little brother.

Loras rode to the Mountain's side, bowing lowly. Sansa just seemed to notice Dyana's presence.

"You're Dyana Tyrell," she said. "They call you the Princess of Petals."

Dyana let out a chuckle. "A silly nickname made by silly people," she replied. "I'm no princess. And you can call Ana, if you please."

Sansa smiled at the youngest Tyrell before looking back toward Gregor and Loras.

Gregor's warhorse was wild, bucking and moving around. Loras sneered at the animal, leading his white mare away. But Dyana saw the arrogant smile that he gave when he thought no one was looking. She knew that smile well. It was the smile he had whenever he was able to trick Highgarden's Master-at-Arms. When he'd done something not exactly honorable. She couldn't help but smile. Loras's mare was in heat, and Gregor liked stallions that had not been castrated. A simple trick, but one that would certainly pay off.

Gregor and Loras rode to either end of the field, Gregor's stallion fighting him all the while. They were handed lances and shields. Gregor fumbled to get them into his grip, still trying to keep his horse in place. Loras put on his helm, an intricate thing designed to look like intertwining vines and roses. If there was anything Dyana's brother was known for, it was his extravagance. That, and his handsomeness.

Sansa took her father's arm tightly. "Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," she said.

"Hey," Eddard tried to ease.

"I can't watch."

"One hundred Gold Dragons on the Mountain," Petyr spoke up from his seat beside Dyana, looking back at Renly.

"I'll take that bet," the king's brother replied.

"Now, what will I buy with one hundred Gold Dragons? Or a dozen barrels of Dornish wine? A girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?"

"Or you could even buy a friend."

Sansa was growing more upset. "He's going to die," she stated.

Dyana bit her lip, leaning forward and taking Sansa's arm. "My brother rides well, Lady Sansa. You needn't worry about him."

Gregor's horse pawed at the dirt, kicking up clouds of dust.

The horn was blown, and instantly the men were riding toward each other. "Loras!" Dyana cheered.

It happened fast.

Loras's lance slammed against Gregor's shield, just as Gregor's horse made a move toward the mare. Gregor went tumbling, his horse breaking the wooden fence.

Renly rose to his feet, grinning and laughing raucously. Dyana couldn't help but stand as well, clapping wildly. Gregor's horse got to it's feet, leaving it's owner in the dirt. "Such a shame, Littlefinger," Renly said. "It would have been so nice for you to have a friend."

Petyr stood as well, waving a hand toward Loras. "And tell me, Lord Renly," he said, "when will you be having your friend?"

Renly rolled his dark eyes, sitting back down. Dyana glared at Petyr, leaning close to whisper to him. "My brother's friendships are no concern of yours. Am I clear?"

He turned his head slightly, chuckling at the youngest Tyrell. "Very clear, Dyana."

"It's Lady Tyrell to you," she snapped.

Petyr nodded, sitting back down. Dyana hesitated before doing the same. She took Sansa's shoulder gently. "I told you Loras would win. He knew that his mare was in heat. A clever plan, really."

"Ser Loras would never do that," Sansa said. "There's no honor in tricks."

"No honor, yes," Petyr suddenly interjected. "But quite a bit of gold."

Gregor got to his feet, throwing his helmet to the dirt. "Sword!" he roared.

A squire hurried over, handing him his sword. Loras was riding along, smiling. Gregor drew the sword, turning and chopping his horse's head off in one fell swoop. The crowd's clapping and cheering suddenly turned to horrified cries and gasps.

Gregor advanced toward Loras, who was only just able to block with his shield before being thrown to the dirt. "Loras!" Dyana urged.

He fell on his head, his helm bending. Loras quickly stumbled to his feet, backing away from Gregor, shielding himself the best he could. He tripped over his armor, falling once more. He managed to cover himself with the shield, curling into a ball. Both Renly and Dyana rose.

"Leave him be!" Sandor shouted, hurrying away from the royal family.

Gregor swung down on Loras's shield, and there was a splintering of wood. "Stop him!" Dyana screamed.

Loras rolled away, allowing Sandor to launch into a fight with Gregor. Joffrey stood next, staring at his protector.

Gregor backed away, a glare on his face. He let out a growl, charging at his little brother. The swords clanged together, the sound ringing in Dyana's ears. Joffrey smiled slightly, enjoying the fight.

"Stop this madness in the name of your king!" Robert shouted.

Sandor stopped, dropping to his knees, pressing the blade of his sword into the dirt. Gregor's sword barely missed the top of his head. The Mountain threw his sword down, storming off the field. "Let him go!" Robert told the Kingsguard who attempted to block him.

Everyone who was standing sat back down. All except Dyana. She watched as Loras got back to his feet, moving toward Sandor. "I owe you my life, Ser," he said.

"I'm no ser," Sandor replied.

Loras took his arm, raising into the air. Cheers exploded from the crowd, and everyone was standing again.

When Loras released Sandor's arm, Dyana ran onto the field. She threw her arms around her older brother, laughing. "Oh, you're an idiot," she whispered. "A damn idiot."

"A damn idiot who's won this round of the tourney," he answered.

She shoved him lightly, laughing still. "You're mad, Loras."

He just smiled.


	3. Chapter Three

Dyana Tyrell didn't concern herself with what her brother did with Renly Baratheon. She didn't listen to the rumors. Didn't answer anyone's questions. She supposed that the people who asked questions only wanted to know because of morbid curiosity. But she couldn't care less about her brother's so called 'perversion.' Because she at least shared some of it.

While Loras was drawn purely to men, Dyana held interests in both men and women. It was easy enough to keep it a secret; she'd never found a woman that could really keep her interest for long. Handmaidens were too stupid, and noble ladies would reject her advances instantly. But now, there was Sansa Stark. A pretty little thirteen-year-old with blue eyes and red hair. She was so innocent and naïve. Absolutely beautiful.

That was why Dyana found herself making her way to Loras's room. She didn't bother to knock, she simply opened the door. Dyana was greeted with the forms of Renly and Loras, neither wearing shirts and both of them inches away from each other. "Lord Renly," she addressed with a brief chuckle. "I'd like to speak to my brother, please. In private."

Renly practically leaped away from Loras. His face went red as he turned to face the youngest Tyrell. "Dyana," he breathed out.

He brushed past her, picking up his shirt from the floor. He fumbled to put it back on, but the moment he was able to, he ran from the room.

Loras sighed, rolling his eyes at his younger sister. "Seven hells, Ana, can't you knock?" he demanded.

"You would've sent me away," she shrugged with a smirk.

He let out another dramatic sigh. "I was busy."

"Busy trying to fuck the king's little brother?"

"Dyana!"

She laughed at this. "You know that I don't care, Loras. Now, I need to speak to you."

He nodded, moving toward his bed and pulling on his shirt. "What is it?" he asked.

"Sansa Stark."

"What about her?"

Dyana bit her lip, looking at the floor. "She's the most beautiful girl I've ever encountered."

Loras looked at his sister. "You're mad," he stated.

"I know I am, Loras, thank you for that astute observation."

He chuckled at that. "Gods, Dyana, what has gotten into you?"

"Love. Lust. Can't tell the difference, really," she answered.

"I'll tell you the difference. Do you want to marry her, or do you want to fuck her?"

Dyana thought a moment. "I don't know."

Loras shrugged. "Then I suppose I can't tell the difference."

"What use are you, then?" she mocked.

"I am an excellent big brother."

She rolled her eyes. "I suppose," she muttered.

Loras sat down on his bed, stretching his arms. "Find Renly for me," he instructed. "Send him back here."

Dyana let out a laugh. "As you wish."

She turned, leaving his bedroom.

Dyana found Renly not far from Loras's room, leant against the wall and playing with a loose thread on his shirt. "You can return to my brother, now, Lord Renly," she said.

Renly smiled awkwardly. "Thank you, Dyana."

He turned, hurrying off toward Loras's chambers.

The next morning, Renly was going on a hunt with Robert. Barristan Selmy was joining them, along with Robert's squire, a Lannister cousin called Lancel. Loras was somewhat upset that Renly was leaving, but he could hide this well. He spent most of his time sparring.

When Renly, Robert, and the rest of the hunting party returned, it was not a happy reunion. Robert was injured. Gored by a boar. He was going to die, and that meant Joffrey would be the king. But Eddard Stark had done something.

Something that was not good.

He'd declared Joffrey illegitamate. Cersei's bastard with her twin brother, Jaime.

Just after Robert's death, Loras, Dyana, and Renly fled with anyone that supported them, some fifty retainers. Renly declared himself the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms. Because of Loras, Renly had the Tyrells backing him. Mace planned on sending soldiers, as well as Margaery.

Before leaving the Red Keep, Dyana left a letter at the door of Sansa Stark. It was a simple letter, a simple farewell to a girl she had had one conversation with. Simple and sweet, but with a final line that Dyana left entirely to Sansa's interpretation.

 _Love, Dyana Tyrell 'The Princess of Petals.'_

Dyana didn't know if or when she'd return to King's Landing. All she knew was that they were going to Storm's End, the castle Robert had given Renly after the Rebellion.

There was one other thing that Dyana knew.

Renly declared himself king.

And all kings need queens.


	4. Chapter Four

A war had begun. They called it the War of Five Kings. It had been little less than a year since Joffrey was crowned, and already there were people who wished to take his throne.

There was Renly Baratheon: he claimed that despite rights of succession, he should be the ruler of Westeros.

Stannis Baratheon: the throne fell to him by right if Cersei's children truly were illegitimate.

Joffrey Baratheon: for now the throne was in his hands, and he was not going to give it up.

Robb Stark: he was not a contender for the Iron Throne, but he had declared himself the King in the North.

Finally, there was Balon Greyjoy: the Greyjoys always were ones to cause trouble, and a war where no was sure who belonged on the throne was something of great interest to the lord of the Iron Islands.

Eddard Stark was dead. Beheaded for treason at Joffrey's command.

Dyana was correct in her thinking that Renly would need a queen. When Margaery arrived at Storm's End, he had a choice of the two Tyrell sisters. Dyana had no wishes of being a claimant queen, but, nonetheless, Renly chose her. She supposed it was because she was the younger of the two sisters. Because the people of Storm's End liked her and the people of Highgarden called her a princess.

Tourneys were held often. Loras often won these, much to Dyana and Margaery's delight.

But today's tourney was an exception.

The person that sparred Loras today was large and surprisingly quick. Margaery was sat below the King and Queen, and she stood and cheered for her brother. "Loras! Highgarden!"

"He's going to lose," Dyana warned her older sister, letting out a laugh when Loras went stumbling backwards.

"Have faith in our brother, Ana," Margaery replied.

Dyana and Margaery were dressed similarly. Margaery had chosen a lovely blue dress for the day. But Dyana's was a shade of lilac purple. Her pale pink undress barely showed through. She truly was the Princess of Petals. The only difference in the sister's attire was Dyana's crown. Renly's was a design made to look like a stags antlers. Dyana's was a simple iron circlet, hammered into the shape of twining vines. The centerpiece was a curling design of a rose, with a bright sapphire in the center.

When Loras fell, Margaery let out a gasp. "Told you," Dyana said. "I should've bet on it."

The competitor drew a dagger, aiming it at Loras's throat. "Yield!" Loras stated. "I yield."

Margaery lowered back down into her seat. Renly broke into applause. "Well fought," he congratulated the large figure. "Approach."

Loras got to his feet, taking off his helm and shaking out his blond curls. He sneered at the figure as it approached Renly, Margaery, and Dyana, kneeling. "Rise," Renly said. "Remove your helm."

The figure did as told, and Dyana was surprised to note that it was a woman.

She had short, blonde hair. Her eyes were bright blue, the same color as the sapphire in Dyana's crown. She had a rather square face, that held a stoic expression. "You are all your father promised and more, my lady," Renly said. "I've seen Ser Loras bested once or twice, but never quite in that fashion."

"Now, now, My King, Dyana's and I's brother fought valiantly for you," Margaery offered, trying to ease Loras's growing annoyance.

The elder girl looked pointedly at Dyana, who caught on quickly. "Yes, my love, my brother did his very best."

Renly smiled. She reached for his hand in an attempt of appearing closer, but he moved it away quickly and continued speaking. "But there can only be one champion. Brienne of Tarth," he addressed the woman, "you may ask anything of me you desire. If it is within my power, it is yours."

Brienne knelt before him once more. "Your Grace," she said, "I ask for the honor of a place in your Kingsguard."

"What?" Loras muttered, as hushed speaking broke out amongst the crowd.

Brienne continued. "I will be one of your seven, pledge my life to yours, and keep you safe from all harm."

Loras shook his head, trying to make Renly refuse. But Renly only smiled broadly. "Done," he said. "Rise, Brienne of the Kingsguard."

He started applauding once more, and everyone joined in quickly. Brienne stood.

It was then that a man stepped up toward Renly. "Your Grace, I have the honor to bring you Lady Catelyn Stark, sent as an envoy by her son, Robb, Lord of Winterfell," he said.

"Lord of Winterfell and King in the North," Catelyn said.

Dyana looked Lady Catelyn over. So this was Sansa's mother. This was the source of the beautiful red hair. Of the bright blue eyes. She felt a pang of sadness for the lovely girl she'd left in King's Landing.

"Lady Catelyn," Renly smiled. "I'm pleased to see you. May I present my wife Dyana of House Tyrell?"

Catelyn nodded respectfully to Dyana, who offered a nod as well. "You are very welcome here, Lady Catelyn," the Tyrell girl said. "I'm so very sorry for your loss. Lord Eddard was an honorable man."

"You are most kind," Catelyn answered.

"My lady, I swear to you I will see the Lannisters answer for your husband's murder," Renly stated. "When I take King's Landing, I'll bring you Joffrey's head."

Cheers rose up from the crowd.

"It will be enough to know that justice was done, my lord," Catelyn said.

"Your Grace," Brienne corrected. "And you should kneel when you approach the king."

"There's no need for that," Renly eased. "Lady Stark is an honored guest."

"Has your son marched against Tywin Lannister yet?" Loras suddenly asked Catelyn.

She turned to face him. "I do not sit on my son's war councils. And if I did, I would not share his strategies with you."

"If Robb Stark wants a pact with us, he should come himself, not hide behind his mother's skirts."

"My son is fighting a war, not playing at one."

Dyana couldn't help but smile at the fierceness in Catelyn's tone. She offered a kind smile to the older lady. "My apologies, Lady Catelyn. My brother should learn how to bite his tongue," she said.

Loras shot his sister a glare.

Renly let out a chuckle, standing and staring down at Catelyn. He smiled, walking up to her. "Don't worry, my lady. Our war is just beginning."

He waved his arm, leading her away from the crowd and into the camp, leaving Dyana with Margaery. Renly's Kingsguard followed them.


	5. Chapter Five

Renly and Dyana had separate tents. Dyana didn't mind; she liked being by herself. But that meant making a trek across camp whenever she had to see Renly. And this night, she had to see Renly.

Their marriage had not been consummated. As far as the people were concerned, Dyana was still a virgin. That fact needed to be changed. If Dyana never gave Renly children, people would talk. They'd figure out their king's tastes for men, and he wouldn't be a king for much longer. So Dyana needed to have a child, and fast.

She stepped into Renly's tent, finding him drinking heavily from a cup of wine. He let out a sigh, turning to look at her. "I should warn you," he said, "I've had quite a bit of wine."

"As is your right as a king," Dyana smiled.

He managed a slight smile. "You look very pretty, Dyana."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"It's a lovely dress."

Dyana took a few steps forward. "Is it? I can't quite decide which way I like it best. This way," she gestured to the top of the dress. "Or this way."

She untied the ribbons at the front of the dress, letting the fabric fall away, leaving her naked, save an underskirt. Renly took in a sharp breath, looking Dyana over. "You certainly don't need the dress," he said hesitantly.

She stepped closer, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Although..." he began, stopping when she kissed his neck, "some say that beauty most desired is the beauty conceal- -"

She cut him off, kissing his lips. Her hand started to move down toward his trousers. But everything she did received no reaction.

Dyana took a step back, smiling kindly at Renly. "Must be the wine," he said.

She chuckled. "Must be."

When she kissed him again, she felt him shudder against her chest. He stepped back. "I'm sorry."

Dyana paused, biting her lip before speaking again. "Would you like Loras to come in and help?"

Renly froze, looking at her. "What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb. He could get you started. I know that wouldn't mind. I could, oh I don't know, I could turn over and pretend that I'm him."

She didn't even know what was coming out her own mouth, she just knew that every word was making Renly much more confused. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

Dyana couldn't help but laugh. "You do. I'm not stupid, and you're not either. I know what- -"

"I'd like you to stop talking about this," Renly cut her off.

He sat down on the bed, going quiet. Dyana sighed softly, picking up the top of her dress and putting the clothing back on. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll stop."

She sat down beside him, offering a smile. "You're enemies aren't happy about our marriage. They want to tear us apart. The very best way to stop them is for you to put your baby in my belly. We can try again whenever you like. You decide how you want to do it- - with me, with me and Loras. Whatever else you could think of. Whatever you need to do, I'll do it. You are my king, and I am your queen."

Renly nodded slowly. Dyana bit her lip once more, leaning close and kissing his cheek.

Dyana returned to her tent bored. She found a soldier on her way back, and took him to bed.

The next night, Dyana, Loras, and Margaery were walking the campsite. Dyana and Margaery's arms were linked together. Loras kissed each of his sisters on the cheek before stepping away, leaving them to walk by themselves. "Your Grace," Petyr Baelish addressed Dyana, before looking at Margaery. "Lady Margaery."

"Lord Baelish," Margaery said kindly, while Dyana didn't even give the courtesy of a reply.

He moved to Dyana's side, and she stepped further away. "All of these tents look the same to me," he said. "Would you two be so kind to- -"

"It would be our pleasure," Margaery interjected, smiling. "It took Dyana and I weeks to learn our way around the camp. Twice I walked in on officers in stages of undress, and Dyana has seen things she's been yet to tell me. The moment Dyana learns which tent is hers and I learn which one mine is, we're on the move again."

"Dyana's tent? Shouldn't it be Dyana and Renly's tent?"

Dyana shoved Margaery slightly, before she looked at Petyr, who continued speaking. "Does the king snore? Or is it that he simply prefers solitude? Pressures of command, no doubt. Four kings vying for the throne."

Margaery was the one who answered. "My sister and I are not tutored in warfare, but basic arithmetic favors the side with the greater numbers."

Petyr shrugged lightly. "If war were arithmetic, the mathematicians would rule the world. I did notice you two's brother entering His Grace's tent just now."

Dyana shot back quickly. "The place of a man of the Kingsguard is by the side of the King."

"And on the night of your wedding, who was by the king's side then?"

"You seem very interested in Renly and I's marriage."

Petyr stopped, but the Tyrell sisters continued walking. "Your marriage is very interesting..." he said. "Not only to me, but to the realm. The marriage of a wealthy girl always breeds interest, if nothing else."

Dyana and Margaery both stopped, and Dyana tried to keep her expression measured when she looked back at Petyr. "You've never been married, have you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I've been unlucky in my affections, sadly."

"That it sad. Though perhaps it is for the best. The whole notion of marriage seems to confuse you, so please, let me explain it to you. My husband is my king, my king is my husband. Your tent is right here, Littlefinger. Have a wonderful night."

She turned away from him, pulling Margaery harshly forward. They started walking once more. "I understand why you hate that man," Margaery said to her. "I could hardly even tolerate him, and he was more interested in you."

Dyana nodded stiffly. "I don't like his questions. Someone's going to have to keep an eye on him."


	6. Chapter Six

Renly was dead. Stabbed through the heart. Many of the people were accusing Brienne, but she had fled with Catelyn Stark. She could not defend herself against these claims. Everyone at the camp was in a frenzy.

The Tyrell siblings found themselves staring down at Renly's corpse. Loras was sat beside the stretcher. His face was devoid of emotion. He was in shock.

Margaery paced the tent. "We need to go home," she stated. "Loras."

"Let him grieve for a moment," Dyana told her sister.

"My lord, my ladies," Petyr's voice suddenly spoke up.

He stepped into the tent. "Get out," Loras hissed.

But Petyr ignored him. "Stannis will be here in an hour. When he arrives, Renly's bannermen will flock to him. Your former companions will fight for the privilege of selling you to their new king."

Loras suddenly drew his sword, stepping toward Petyr. "And you want that privilege for yourself," he snapped.

"You will note that I am standing here talking to you. Not Stannis," Petyr said, unfazed by the sword aimed at his face.

Margaery took Loras by the shoulder, shoving him away from Petyr. "There's no time for this," she said.

"Ride back to Highgarden, sister," Loras stated. "I'm not running from Stannis."

"Brienne of Tarth murdered Renly."

"I don't believe that. You don't believe that. Dyana doesn't believe that. Who gained the most from our king's death?"

"Stannis," Petyr said.

Loras's anger grew. "I will put a sword through his righteous face," he snapped.

"You can't stay here," Dyana told her brother.

"He would have been a true king, a good king," Loras said.

He lowered beside Renly's corpse once more. "Tell me, Ser Loras," Petyr said, "what do you desire most in this world?"

Loras's response was simple, and full of loathing. "Revenge."

"I have always found that to be the purest of motivations, but you won't have a chance to put your sword through Stannis, not today. You'll be cut to pieces before he sets foot on solid ground. If it is justice that you want, be smart about it."

Margaery joined Petyr in the convincing. "You can't avenge him from the grave," she stated, moving toward him and taking his shoulder. "Bring the horses. Please."

She ran her fingers through his curls in a calming manner.

Loras took another look at Renly before he got to his feet, putting his sword away. He left the tent without a word.

Dyana and Margaery were left with Petyr, who stepped toward the pair. "He was very handsome," Dyana said.

"He was, Your Grace," Petyr agreed.

"'Your Grace.' Just because you call yourself a king it doesn't mean you are one. If that were the case, there'd be thousands of kings. But if Renly wasn't a king, then I wasn't a queen."

"Do you want to be a queen?"

Dyana scoffed. "No, I never did. That's Margaery's dream more than mine," she said, nodding toward her elder sister.

"Well," Petyr said. "Margaery. Do you want to be a queen?"

Margaery shook her head. "No," she said. "I want to be the queen."

She looked at Petyr, who gave a smile.

With the bulk of Renly's men flocking to Stannis, Dyana became worried. What were she and her siblings to do? She could go to Stannis, too. He wouldn't kill her, she was just a girl who was helping her family. Surely he'd understand that. He'd understand that she wasn't trying to be a traitor. She was doing what her father had commanded. She'd found a husband, and whether or not that was the right husband was entirely up to Stannis to decide.

But Dyana wouldn't do that. She wouldn't go to Stannis. Because, when the time came, they'd be going to King's Landing.

Stannis would be landing at the Red Keep soon.

If the Tyrell siblings could rally their soldiers in time and have Loras sweep in to save the day, then their family would be the heroes. Joffrey was sure to reward them, and the highest rewards for members of a noble family were things that Dyana knew very well. Marriage and betrothal.

King Joffrey was fifteen and unwed.

If he so pleased, there could again be choice of Dyana or Margaery. Dyana hoped that it would fall upon Margaery to be the one to wed the foul boy-king. Her sister was always the better one at holding her temper.

The only thing Dyana wanted in King's Landing was Sansa Stark.

It had been a year since their only interaction had occurred, and still, Dyana couldn't stop thinking of her. Was she safe? What had Joffrey done to her while Dyana was gone?

But she couldn't let those thoughts distract her.

She needed to keep her mind on the plan.

She had to do it for her family.

For Loras, and Margaery, and Mace, and Olenna.

So when the time came, and the Battle of the Blackwater was fought and won, Loras made sure that the Tyrell's army was front and center.

The city was saved.

And finally, Dyana Tyrell returned to King's Landing.


	7. Chapter Seven

As the Tyrells had predicted, Joffrey was giving rewards to the people who helped during the battle. Tywin Lannister was the first one to receive his reward. He rode in on a white horse. "I, Joffrey of the house Baratheon, first of my name, the rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby proclaim my grandfather Tywin Lannister the savior of the city and the Hand of the King," Joffrey said.

A steward lowered, allowing Joffrey to place the pin on a cushion before it was delivered to Tywin.

Dyana couldn't help but think about the last time Tywin Lannister was Hand. He'd been Hand to Aerys Targaryen. The Mad King.

Tywin bowed when he received the pin. "Thank you, Your Grace," he said, and he rode out of the throne room.

Joffrey waved his hand toward the people. "Lord Petyr Baelish," he stated, "step forward."

Petyr did as told, kneeling before Joffrey. "For your good service and ingenuity in uniting the houses of Lannister and Tyrell, I declare that you shall be granted the castle of Harrenhal... With all it's attendant lands and incomes to be held by your sons and grandsons from this day until the end of time," Joffrey said.

"You honor me beyond words, Your Grace," Petyr replied, rising to his feet. "I shall have to acquire some sons and grandsons."

This brought forth laughter, and Petyr grinned, relishing in it as he returned to his place.

Up on the balconies, Dyana saw familiar red hair. Sansa was watching. Dyana raised her hand slowly, starting to wave when Joffrey suddenly spoke. "Ser Loras Tyrell."

Loras stepped away from Margaery and Dyana, kneeling before the king. "Your house has come to our aid," Joffrey said. "The whole realm is in your debt, none more so than I. If your family would ask anything of me, ask it and it shall be yours."

Loras hesitated before he answered. "Your Grace, my sisters, Margaery and Dyana, Dyana's husband was taken from us before... she remains innocent. As does Margaery. I would ask you to find it in your heart to do us the great honor of joining our houses. You may have your choice of my sisters."

Joffrey straightened in his seat on the throne as murmurs broke out amongst the crowd. "Well," he said, his eyes darting between the two girls. "I couldn't marry Lady Dyana, she was wed to a traitor. Would you want to marry me, Lady Margaery?"

Margaery smiled. "With all my heart, Your Grace," she said, stepping to Loras's side. "I have come to love you afar. Tales of your courage and wisdom have never been far from my ears. And those tales have taken root deep inside of me."

"Well, I too have heard tales of your beauty and grace, but the tales do not do you justice, my lady. It would be an honor to return your love, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his word."

Cersei looked over at her son. "Your Grace, in the judgement of your small council, it would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne as we speak. For the good of the realm, your councilors beg you... to set Sansa Stark aside," she said.

The murmurs broke out again. Dyana caught Sansa's gaze, and she offered the girl a smile. "Margaery!" the crowd cheered. "We want Margaery!"

Joffrey got to his feet, raising a hand for silence. "I would like to heed your wishes and the wishes of my people, but I took a holy vow."

Maester Pycelle spoke up next. "Your Grace," he said, "the Gods do indeed hold betrothal solemn, but your father, blessed be his memory, made this pact before the Starks revealed their falseness. I have consulted with the High Septon and he assures me that their crimes against the realm free you from any promise you have made to them in the sight of the Gods."

Joffrey let out a sigh, smiling. "The Gods are good. I am free to heed my heart. Ser Loras, I will gladly wed your sweet sister, Lady Margaery."

He looked at Margaery, who was smiling brightly. "You will be my queen and I will love you from this day until my last day."

Applause broke out from the crowd. Dyana joined, smiling a smile that did not meet her eyes. She looked up at Sansa, who's face held an expression of pure shock. The Stark girl stepped away from the balcony's edge, walking away.

Petyr moved toward the stairs, and Dyana quickly followed him. "My lady," he said, and Sansa spun around, gasping. "My sincerest condolences."

Sansa nodded slowly. "They're right- - I'm not good enough for him."

"You shouldn't say that. You'll be good enough for many things. He'll still enjoy beating you. And now that you're a woman, he'll be able to enjoy you in other ways as well."

"But if he's not marrying me- -" Sansa began.

"He'll let you go home?" Petyr interrupted, shaking his head. "Joffrey's not the sort of boy who gives away his toys. You have a tender heart, just like your mother did at your age. I can see so much of her in you. She was like a sister to me. For your sake, I'll help get you home."

Sansa hesitated a long time before she answered. "King's Landing is my home now."

Petyr looked back. Then he spoke again. "Look around you," he said. "We're all liars here. And every one of us is better than you."

He took a few steps away, turning around fully and catching Dyana's gaze. "Lady Dyana," he greeted.

"Littlefinger," she said coolly.

He raised an eyebrow, stepping around her and returning to the crowd of people.

Dyana stepped toward Sansa, smiling. "It's been a year since I last saw you," she noted.

"That was at my father's tourney," Sansa replied.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Lady Sansa."

"If I can call you Ana, then you can call me Sansa."

Dyana chuckled, bowing her head. "All right," she said. "Sansa."


	8. Chapter Eight

"Oh, Margaery is so charitable."

"She'll be a wonderful queen."

"Did you hear what Margaery did for the orphans?"

Dyana couldn't go anywhere in the castle without hearing about her sister's latest charitable act. She was beginning to be annoyed by this. She understood that Margaery had to make the people like her if she was going to be their queen, but she just wished that they wouldn't make such a fuss out of it.

Margaery invited both Loras and Dyana to a supper that night. Both Cersei and Joffrey would be attending the supper, much to Dyana's disappointment.

The Tyrells were the first ones at the table. They talked idly as they waited for Cersei and Joffrey. When the king and his mother arrived, it was time for the Tyrells to act proper. "Your Grace," Margaery addressed, and her siblings echoed her.

"Please, sit," Joffrey said. "Sit. I do apologize, my lady. Small councils meetings. At what point does it become treason to waste the king's time?"

Margaery chuckled, looking pointedly at Loras and Dyana, who joined her hesitantly. Joffrey looked Margaery over. "That's a lovely gown, my lady," he noted.

"Yes, it suits you perfectly," Cersei spoke up. "I imagine you might be rather cold."

Dyana self-consciously adjusted her own dress, which was a near exact copy of Margaery's except for the color. The elder sister was not deterred, however. "The climate is a bit more forgiving back in Highgarden, Your Grace," she said.

"Shall I have them bring you a shawl, my lady?" Joffrey offered.

"I am touched by your concern, Your Grace. Luckily for us Tyrells, our blood runs quite warm. Doesn't it, Dyana?"

Dyana nodded quickly. "Oh," she said. "Yes."

"Dyana," Margaery said, "isn't the queen's gown magnificent? The fabric, the embroidery, the metalwork. I've never seen anything like it."

Dyana offered Cersei a smile. "It truly is a beautiful gown. The metalwork is brilliant. It reminds me of armor."

Cersei let out a short chuckle before she spoke, sitting in her chair. "Your sister might find a bit of armor quite useful once she becomes queen. Perhaps before."

The Tyrells sat down, and Margaery looked at Cersei, eyebrow raised. The queen elaborated. "Joffrey tells me you stopped your carriage at Flea Bottom on your way back from the sept this morning."

Margaery only smiled. "Yes. I paid a visit to an orphanage the High Septon told me about."

Loras joined. "Margaery does a great deal of work with the poor back in Highgarden."

Servants moved about the table, pouring half cups of wine. When one got to Dyana, she looked up at the young man. "Fill it," she said softly, nodding toward her cup.

He did as told.

"The lowest among us are no different from the highest if you give them a chance and approach them with an open heart," Margaery said.

"An open heart is what you'll get in Flea Bottom if you're not careful, my dear," Cersei stated. "Not long ago, we were attacked by a mob there. We had a full complement of guards that didn't stop them. The king barely escaped with his life."

Joffrey was leant on his arm. He rolled his green eyes, looking to Margaery. "My mother's always had a bit of a penchant for drama," he said. "Facts become less and less important to her as she starts to grow older."

Cersei froze mid sip of wine. There was a dangerous look in her eyes, but Joffrey continued. "Our lives were never truly in danger."

The queen looked down before she spoke again. "You're right, of course. But you are your father's son. We can't all have a king's bravery."

Joffrey let out a low sigh, and Dyana held back a smile. Margaery was driving a wedge between the king and his mother. That was a good thing.

Margaery took note of this, too, and she shared a knowing look with Loras and Dyana.

The food was set out on the table as everyone fell into silence. Margaery was the one who broke the silence. "Hunger turns men into beasts. I'm glad House Tyrell has been able to help in this regard. They tell me a hundred wagons arrive daily now from the Reach. Wheat, barley, apples. We've had a blessed harvest. And, of course, it's our duty to assist the capital in time of need."

"Well, as Ser Loras said, Lady Margaery has done this sort of... charitable work before," Joffrey said. "I'm sure she knows what she's doing."

"I'm sure she does," Cersei agreed, twisting her pendant in her fingers.

Dyana reached for her cup of wine, taking a long drink. She'd never cared for summerwine, but right now, she didn't care. If she was to tolerate a supper with Joffrey and Cersei, she'd need something to dull her mind.

The rest of supper was spent in an awkward silence. Joffrey occasionally broke it to speak with Margaery, but even her cheerful demeanor couldn't cut through the tension.

Dyana was glad when it was over, but she couldn't end it without one last insult to Cersei Lannister.

When the queen mother got up and began to leave, Dyana was sure to 'accidentally' spill her cup of wine. She let out rushed apologies, trying to contain the laughter that threatened to burst out. When the three Tyrell siblings left the room, however, all of them laughed freely.


	9. Chapter Nine

Olenna Tyrell had arrived in King's Landing. Dyana was delighted; she hadn't seen her grandmother in nearly three years. The Tyrell women situated themselves in the gardens, while Margaery sent Loras to retrieve Sansa, much to Dyana's chagrin.

But Dyana could play like all she wanted was a friendship. She'd done it many times before, and she could do it well.

Dyana and Margaery waited by the garden's entrance. While they waited, a handmaiden spoke cheerily with Margaery.

When Loras arrived with Sansa on his arm, Margaery spun to face them both. "You're such a dear," she told Loras.

"I'll take my leave," Loras said with a smile.

He gave Dyana a pointed look as he ushered Sansa toward her. "Lady Sansa," he said, before he walked away.

"Thank you, Ser Loras," Sansa called after him.

Dyana took Sansa's arm, smiling. "Come," she encouraged.

Margaery caught her sister's gaze, raising an eyebrow. But she said nothing.

"Sansa," Dyana said, "it is my honor to present Margaery and I's grandmother... the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell."

Olenna let out a smile, holding her hand out to Sansa. "Kiss me, child," she said, and Sansa did as told.

"It's so good of you to visit me and my foolish flock of hens," the Queen of Thorns continued. "We're very sorry for your losses."

Sansa smiled awkwardly. "And I was sorry when I heard of Lord Renly's death, Lady Dyana. He was very gallant."

"Gallant, yes. And charming and very clean," Olenna stated. "He knew how to dress and smile and somehow this gave him the notion he was fit to be king."

"Renly was very brave and gentle, Grandmother," Dyana pointed out. "Father quite liked him, and so did Loras."

"Loras is young and very good at knocking men off horses with a stick," the old woman shrugged. "That does not make him wise. As to your fathead father- -"

"Grandmother!" Margaery interjected. "What will Sansa think of us?"

"She might think we have some wits about us. Two of us, at any rate. It was treason. I warned them. Robert has two sons and Renly has an older brother. How could he possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair? We should have stayed well out of all this if you ask me. But once the cow's been milked, there's no squirting the cream back up her utters. So here we are to see things through. What do you say to that, Sansa?"

Before Sansa could answer, Olenna spoke again. "Shall we have some lemon cakes?" she asked

Sansa smiled. "Lemon cakes are my favorite," she said.

"So we've been told."

Olenna looked to a servant. "Are you going to bring the food or do you mean to starve us to death?"

The servant gave a polite smile, nodding his head. Olenna rose from her chair. "Here, Sansa, come sit with me," she said. "I'm much less boring than these others."

The three women sat at the table. "Do you know my son?" Olenna asked. "The Lord of Highgarden?"

"I haven't had the pleasure," Sansa replied.

"No great pleasure, believe me. A ponderous oaf. His father was an oaf as well. My husband, the late Lord Luthor. He managed to ride off a cliff whilst hawking. They say he was looking up at the sky and paying no mind to where his horse was taking him. And now my son is doing the same, only this time he's riding a lion instead of a horse. Now... I want you to tell me the truth about this royal boy, this Joffrey."

Sansa went stiff in her seat. Dyana reached over, laying a hand over the younger girl's. "I... I..." Sansa stuttered.

"You, you," Olenna stated. "Who else would know better? We've heard some troubling tales. Is there any truth to them? Has this boy mistreated you?"

When Sansa didn't answer, Olenna continued. "Has he ripped out your tongue?"

Sansa finally spoke. "Joff- King Joffrey, he- - His Grace is very fair and handsome and brave as a lion."

"Yes, all Lannisters are lions," Olenna said. "And when a Tyrell farts, it smells like a rose. But how kind is he? How clever? Has he a good heart, a gentle hand?"

Margaery smiled kindly at Sansa. "I'm to be his wife," she said. "I only want to know what that means."

Footsteps sounded, marking the return of a servant with lemon cakes. Olenna reached for the plate, looking up at the young man. "Bring me some cheese," she instructed.

"The cheese will be served after the cakes, my lady," he said.

"The cheese will be served when I want it served. And I want it served now."

He nodded quickly, hurrying away from the table. Olenna leaned forward to speak to Sansa. "Are you frightened, child?" she asked.

Sansa didn't answer, she only picked up a lemon cake. Olenna continued. "No need for that. We're only women here. Tell us the truth. No harm will come to you."

Dyana picked up a lemon cake, turning it over in her hands before she took a small bite.

Sansa stared at the ground. "My father always told the truth," she said.

"Yes," Olenna agreed, "he had that reputation. And they named him traitor and took his head."

"Joffrey. Joffrey did that."

A dark look was in Sansa's bright blue eyes. Anger was on her face. She kept speaking. "He promised he would be merciful and he cut my father's head off. And he said that was mercy. Then he took me up on the walls and made me look at it."

Tears blossomed below the anger. Margaery slowly leaned forward. "Go on," she said softly.

Sansa straightened suddenly, her anger gone. "I- - I can't. I never meant- - my father was a traitor. My brother as well. I have traitor's blood. Please don't make me say anymore."

Margaery sighed. "She's terrified, Grandmother. Just look at her."

"Speak freely, child," Olenna urged. "We would never betray your confidence, I swear it."

Dyana bit her lip, twining her fingers with Sansa's. "It's all right," she whispered. "You can tell us."

Sansa nodded slowly. "He's a monster," she admitted.

Olenna let out a sigh. "Ah. That's a pity."

"Please, don't stop the wedding," Sansa said.

Olenna chuckled. "Have no fear. The Lord Oaf of Highgarden is determined that Margaery shall be queen. Even so, we thank you for the truth. Ah, here comes my cheese."

The servant set down the cheese, leaving once more.

Dyana raised Sansa's lemon cake, holding it out to the younger girl. "Don't let this trouble you," she said. "Eat it."

She did as told. Dyana ate the rest of her cake.

When the time came for them to leave, Dyana led Sansa deeper into the gardens. She hesitated before she spoke. "I'm sorry for what Joffrey has done to you," she said.

Sansa shook her head. "You don't have to be, it's not your fault."

"I know. But I had a bad feeling from him the moment I saw him at the tourney. If I had ever thought that he'd be as horrible as you described him to be- -"

"Why do you care so much?"

Dyana froze. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you care so much about me?" Sansa replied.

"I don't know. I just want to make sure that you're all right. That you're safe."

"But why?"

"Why should there be a reason? Why does it matter? Why is there a why?"

Sansa's eyebrows furrowed, and Dyana let out a weak laugh. "Sorry," she said. "I know that I can get... intense."

Sansa nodded slightly. "All right," she said. "But I still would like to know what makes you care about me so much."

Dyana bit down on her lip. "You're beautiful. You're sweet. You're naïve. You're kind."

"Really?"

Dyana didn't answer. Instead, she stepped closer. She took Sansa's hands in hers, smiling. "Really," she said after a long moment.

She started to lean close, her eyes on Sansa's lips. But, instead, she lay a kiss to the girl's cheek. "I have to take my leave, now," she said.

When she stepped away, Sansa was blushing.

Dyana hid the smile on her face as she hurried out of the gardens.


	10. Chapter Ten

Margaery had seemed to figure out Dyana's attractions for Sansa. Which was why the elder Tyrell sister demanded that Dyana join her to visit Sansa once more in the gardens. Margaery was smart when she had to be, and she knew that Sansa would willingly speak to them both. Dyana's presence would make her sing like a little bird.

So, even despite her arguing, Dyana found herself walking through the gardens with Margaery. They found Sansa praying. Margaery cleared her throat, and Sansa reacted quickly, getting to her feet. "We didn't mean to disturb you," Margaery said.

"You haven't," Sansa replied.

Margaery smiled, looking at the two guards that stood on either side of her. "We'd like some privacy, please. If you wouldn't mind waiting back inside the keep," she said.

They did not move.

Her smile faded. "Or if you'd be kind enough to give me your names, I'll ask the king to speak with you himself."

They reacted fast, hurrying away.

Margaery took Dyana by the arm, and the pair stepped up to Sansa, who smiled. "What did you pray for?" Margaery asked with a grin.

"I can't tell you," Sansa replied.

"Why not? I'll tell you what I prayed for in the sept this morning."

Margaery took Sansa's arm, and the three girls began walking as Margaery listed her prayers. "Let's see, for my family's health and happiness, for an end to the war, for a short winter. Boring and traditional, I'm afraid. And you?"

"I'm sorry," Sansa said, "I just can't."

As they walked, their conversations varied wildly. Margaery did most of the talking, though she didn't seem to mind. "Dyana and I's cousin Alanna was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. When I was twelve, I was all elbows and knees and Alanna looked like a goddess sent to torture me. Pig-face she called me."

Sansa laughed. "Pig-face? That's ridiculous."

Margaery chuckled. "I think it had something to do with my nose. Whenever she passed me in the halls, she'd oink."

"Pig-face?" Dyana spoke up. "That's not very bad at all! Alanna called me goat-girl. I think it had something to do with the way I ate, to be honest."

The sisters laughed, and Sansa joined in. Margaery spoke again. "Nonetheless, I prayed that she'd catch a horrible skin disease. A week later she came down with porridge plague."

Sansa stopped, her eyebrows furrowed. "Porridge plague?" she asked.

Dyana joined in on the joke. "Oh, you don't have it in the North?" she asked. "Your skin starts looking like it's boiled oats. Eventually your face slides off and you die in agony."

The blue eyes went wide. "But that's awful."

Dyana and Margaery both nodded, but quickly broke out into laughter.

Sansa scoffed. "You're both- - I believed you!" she cried. "Porridge plague. I'm an idiot."

"Oh, don't say that," Dyana said. "You're not."

"So what really did happen to Alanna?"

Margaery answered. "Oh, she grew up to be the most beautiful woman and married a handsome lord and they have darling children and live in a castle by the sea. It's all terribly frustrating."

Sansa offered her a smile. "I'm sure she's jealous of you now. You'll be married here in the capital and she'll have to come watch and pretend to be happy that you're queen."

The three laughed again. Margaery took Sansa's hands. "I want us to be friends," she said, "good friends."

"That would make me very happy," Sansa replied.

"You must see Highgarden," Dyana spoke up. "You would absolutely love it there, I know you would. We have a masquerade the night of the harvest moon. You should see all of the costumes. People will work on them for months on end."

Sansa lowered her head before she answered. "I- - I don't think the queen would let me leave King's Landing."

"The Queen Regent, you mean," Margaery corrected. "Once I marry Joffrey, I'll be queen. And if you were to marry Loras..."

Sansa smiled, and Margaery continued. "Oh, your place would be at Highgarden, wouldn't it? We'd all be sister, you, Dyana, and I. Would you like that?"

Dyana wouldn't. But she saw the joy in Sansa's eyes as she smiled and nodded, her lips quivering with tears of joy.

Sansa, Margaery, and Dyana began spending more time together. This morning, the three were watching Loras spar. "He's such a splendid fighter," Sansa smiled, looking at Margaery and Dyana. "Do you have any idea when we might..."

Margaery chuckled. "I'll plant the seed as soon as Joffrey and I are married. It should grow quickly."

"Joffrey won't let me leave. He's got too many reasons to keep me here."

"And only one to let you go. Because it will please me."

"Squire!" Loras called.

A young man hurried to his side, holding out a cup. Loras took the cup as the squire began to help him out of his armor. Dyana noted the way that Loras was staring at the squire, and she smiled, leaning to whisper to Margaery. "Seems like Loras has found someone else to keep his interest."

Margaery shoved her lightly, chuckling. "What is it?" Sansa asked.

Dyana only offered her a smile. "Family talk. I'm afraid you haven't quite joined the ranks just yet."

Sansa smiled as well. "Yet," she said.

"Yes," Dyana said to herself. "Yet."

She couldn't help but feel disappointed. Sansa was marrying Loras. She adored Loras, though he was so handsome, so perfect. What would she think if Dyana told her that Loras would rather be with the squire that was still talking to him?

Dyana sighed, smoothing her hands over her skirt. She closed her eyes.

Sansa Stark was going to be the death of her.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Sansa was to marry Tyrion Lannister. While she should have been pleased at the prospect of marrying someone from such a high house, she was not happy about her betrothed. Tyrion was a dwarf, to put it simply. He was a drunk. He had a scar from the Battle of the Blackwater. By all accounts, he was at least a kind man, but kindness can only give so much.

The Tyrell sisters and Sansa found themselves in the gardens, something that now happened very often. They sat on a stone wall that overlooked the sea. Sansa was speaking, her voice choked with tears. "Growing up in Winterfell, all I ever wanted was to escape, to come here to the capital. See the southern knights and their painted armor and King's Landing after dark- - all the candles burning in all those windows. I'm stupid. A stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns."

Dyana held Sansa's hand, smiling sympathetically. "You're not," she whispered. "You truly aren't."

Margaery took Sansa's arm. "Come on," she said, and the three girls got to their feet. "Come walk with me."

So, they walked. Sansa was quiet, but Margaery didn't mind. She could fill the quiet. "I remember the first time I saw you in the throne room. I'd never seen anyone who looked so unhappy. I want very much for you to be happy, Sansa, so does Dyana, and so does our grandmother."

Margaery stopped, starting to pick a rose from the bushes as she continued. "You would've been happy at Highgarden. But women in our position must make the best of our circumstances."

She held an orange rose in her hands, smiling. "How do I make the best of my circumstances?" Sansa asked. "I have to marry him."

Margaery held out the rose to Sansa, who took it. "Has Lord Tyrion mistreated you?" she asked.

"No," Sansa replied.

They began walking again. "Has he been kind to you?" Margaery pressed.

"He's tried," Sansa answered.

"You don't want him, though."

"He's a Lannister."

"Far from the worst Lannister, wouldn't you say?"

Sansa paused. "I'm sorry," she said. "Here I am complaining to you..."

"My son will be king," Margaery smiled. "Sons learn from their mothers. I plan to teach mine a great deal. And your son, if I'm not mistaken, your son might be lord of Casterly Rock, and the North someday."

Sansa didn't answer. "What?" Margaery asked.

The northern girl paused as people walked by. She spoke quietly. "My son... with him. I'll have to- - we'll have to- -"

Margaery smiled. "If it's the pain you're worried about- -" she began.

"I'm not afraid of the pain. Not after what Joffrey's done to me."

"What is it, then?" Dyana asked.

Sansa looked at her as if she were stupid. Margaery laughed, speaking up. "He's rather good-looking even with the scar. Especially with the scar."

"He's a dwarf," Sansa replied. "And Loras- - Loras."

"Some women like tall men. Some like short men. Some like hairy men. Some like bald men. Gentle men, rough men, pretty men, ugly men, pretty girls," Margaery said, looking pointedly at Dyana before continuing. "Most women don't know what they like until they've tried it. And, sadly, so many of us get to try so little before we're old and gray. Tyrion may surprise you. From what I've heard, he's quite experienced."

Sansa's eyes went wide. "And that's a good thing?" she asked.

"It can be," Dyana interjected. "We're very complicated, you know. Pleasing us takes practice."

"How do you two know all of this? Did your mother teach you?"

Dyana chuckled, taking Sansa's arm. "Yes, Sansa. Our mother taught us."

When their walk in the gardens was done, they stopped by the entrance. Dyana gave Margaery a pointed look, urging her leave her and Sansa be. Margaery got the message. "I'll be seeing you, Sansa," she said, smiling before leaving.

Dyana smiled at the girl before her. "It'll be all right, Sansa. Tyrion's kind. He's at least mildly good-looking. I'm sure you'll be happy."

But Dyana would not be happy. She would be the exact opposite. She didn't want to see Sansa married. It would pain her far too much. "What if I'm not happy?" Sansa asked.

Dyana lowered her head, letting out a sigh. When she raised her head again, she smiled, taking the rose from Sansa's hand. "A lovely flower," she murmured. "House Tyrell. A golden rose, growing strong."

She tucked the rose behind Sansa's ear, biting her lip. "A lovely flower for an equally, if not more so, lovely girl."

Sansa smiled slightly. "I'm lovely?"

"You're the most lovely girl I've ever met."

Sansa hesitated a moment. "Was it really your mother who taught you about those sorts of things?"

"No," Dyana replied. "Margaery and I... we learned those things ourselves. We teach ourselves them. We are not nearly as innocent as everyone in the court thinks we are."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean that I'm certainly not a maiden, and I can nearly guarantee that Margaery isn't either."

Sansa's blue eyes went wide. "Really?" she asked.

Dyana chuckled. "Yes, really. I think the first man I was ever with was a squire for my father. He was- - he was a pompous boy who thought I wished to marry him. I can't even remember his name, something Flowers, he was a bastard. He was my first kiss, too."

Sansa still seemed completely caught off guard. "Really?" she repeated. "How could you forget the name of someone that you..."

"Maidenhood is nothing, Sansa Stark. It was years ago. I was fourteen, and I never saw him again. He died."

"How did he die?"

"The poor idiot was kicked in the head by my father's horse."

Dyana's laughter seemed to make Sansa's confusion grow. Finally, she stopped laughing. She took Sansa's hands in hers. "Maidenhood is nothing," she repeated. "It is only something made up by men who don't want women to know that they're awful in bed."

Sansa chuckled at that, and Dyana smiled. "Don't worry about marrying Tyrion," the Tyrell girl said. "It will not matter in the long run, when you're lady of Casterly Rock, aunt of the king. Your son will be Lord Lannister of Casterly Rock. Your daughter will be Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock. You'll be Sansa Lannister."

But the thought of it still pained Dyana greatly. She had to push that pain away, however. Sansa was not hers to have, no matter how badly she wanted her. But that wouldn't, and couldn't stop her from doing something she'd wanted to do since she first lay eyes on Sansa Stark. "I care about your happiness," she said kindly.

She leaned forward, and kissed Sansa Stark on the lips.


	12. Chapter Twelve

It was time for Sansa and Tyrion to be married. Dyana was anxious. She had kissed Sansa. She'd kissed Sansa. She'd _kissed Sansa_. It was hard for her to even realize that. She didn't know what she was thinking. Sansa was getting married. Dyana was a woman. And here she was, waiting for the lovely girl that she had kissed to be married.

Dyana kept far away from Margaery, who was speaking with Cersei. Cersei hadn't said a word to Dyana since the incident with the wine, and, to be honest, she was glad of it. She hated the queen mother. Dyana found herself beside Loras. She pulled him away from the bulk of the people, whispering to him. "I kissed Sansa."

"What?" Loras stated, turning to face his little sister.

"What don't you understand?"

"The random confession you've just made."

Dyana let out a weak laugh. "I kissed Sansa Stark."

"You can't be serious."

"I am deadly serious."

"And she let you?"

"I don't think she knew what was happening."

Loras laughed softly. "Really?" he asked. "And you're aware that she's getting married today?"

"Of course I am," she stated.

He wrapped his arm around his sister's shoulder, giving her a smile. "It's all right," he said.

Dyana shoved him lightly, rolling her eyes.

They joined the group of people, watching as the doors opened. Sansa stepped inside. Dyana couldn't help but smile at the sight of her in her ivory wedding dress with it's gold embroidery. Her hair was done up in a beautiful style, with two braids hanging down.

Joffrey ruined the moment, stepping to her side. "What are you doing?" Sansa asked.

"Your father's gone," Joffrey replied. "As the father of the realm, it is my duty to give you away to your husband."

He raised his arm, smiling. Sansa hesitated before taking it, and they began walking. When they passed by Dyana and Loras, Dyana caught her gaze. She smiled at the Stark girl, looking at the floor. Sansa looked away quickly.

Joffrey led her up the steps, smirking at Tyrion. He let go of Sansa, picking up the step stool that was meant for Tyrion and making his way down the stairs.

The High Septon began speaking. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Sansa turned, waiting for Tyrion to cloak her in the red and gold of House Lannister. But Tyrion was too short to get the cloak over her shoulders. Quiet laughter broke out amongst the crowd. Dyana looked at the floor again. Joffrey chuckled to himself, and the laughter grew louder. Tywin turned, silencing the people behind him. But Joffrey did nothing to contain his chuckles. "Could you..." Tyrion said to Sansa.

She lowered, letting him put the cloak around her shoulders. "Thank you," he said.

Sansa rose again, looking at the High Septon, who spoke once more. "Your Grace, Your Grace, my lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

When all the vows were made and the High Septon proclaimed the pair man and wife, it was time for a feast. It was surprisingly nice. Dark, but nice, with lots of candles and fires burning. Dyana was sat with her siblings and Olenna. "So their son will be your nephew," Olenna was saying to Loras. "After you're wed to Cersei, of course. And you will be the king's stepfather and brother-in-law."

Olenna looked to Margaery. "When you marry the king, Joffrey's mother will become his sister-in-law and your son will be Loras's nephew? Grandson? I'm not sure. But your brother will become your father-in-law. That much is beyond dispute."

Loras stood suddenly, leaving the table. Dyana rolled her eyes at his dramatics. She looked to Olenna. "And I stay I the same?" she asked. "Everything about me stays the same?"

"You'll be the king's aunt, as well as his sister-in-law. So, no, everything about you does not stay the same," Olenna stated.

"A pity," Dyana shot back. "I quite liked myself before this whole mess."

At their table, Sansa had a look of disgust on her face. She watched Tyrion check his teeth in the reflective surface of his plate. "Poor girl," Dyana murmured.

Tyrion took a sip of wine, snorting as it spilled onto his shirt. He wiped his mouth with the tablecloth, Sansa cringing all the while. "Will you pardon me, my lord?" she asked him.

"Of course," Tyrion said. "Of course. En- - enjoy."

Sansa rose from her chair, walking away. Joffrey started to follow, but was deterred by Cersei. He seemed to ignore his mother, following Sansa. Cersei let out a sigh, standing and leaving as well.

Dyana watched Sansa, who was now speaking with Varys, the Spider. She leaned on her hand, staring lazily at the girl. But Sansa walked away with her handmaiden, leaving Dyana to find something else to do.

Joffrey returned, clapping his hands. "Time for the bedding ceremony," he announced.

Cheers exploded from the crowd.

"There will be no bedding ceremony," Tyrion stated.

Joffrey took Sansa's hand, leading her. "Where's your respect for tradition, Uncle?" he asked.

He addressed the crowd now. "Come, everyone. Pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed. Get rid of her gown. She won't be needing it any longer. Ladies, attend to my uncle. He's not heavy."

"There will be no bedding ceremony," Tyrion repeated.

"There will be if I command it."

Tyrion stabbed his knife into the table, anger clear on his face. "Then you'll be fucking your own bride with a wooden cock."

There was silence.

"What did you say?" Joffrey demanded.

Tyrion's hand shook as he gripped the knife, but he wouldn't let that stop him. Joffrey stepped to him, rage overwhelming his features. "What did you say?!" the boy king roared.

Tywin was the one who stopped the confrontation. "I believe we can dispense with the bedding, Your Grace," he told his grandson. "I'm sure Tyrion did not mean to threaten the king."

Tyrion looked at the floor, clearly pained by what he was about to do. He laughed, releasing the knife. "A bad joke, Your Grace," he said. "Made out of envy of your own royal manhood."

He grinned, playing with the handle of the knife as he spoke. "Mine is so small. My poor wife won't even know I'm there."

Tywin added, "your uncle is clearly quite drunk, Your Grace."

"I am," Tyrion agreed. "Guilty. But- -" he started to get out of his chair, slipping and nearly falling to the floor, "but it is my wedding night. My tiny drunk cock and I have a job to do."

He stumbled as he stepped up to Sansa, falling onto a table. He propped himself up, nodding toward Sansa. "Come, wife," he encouraged.

She looked at the floor before following him. But Tyrion wasn't done speaking. "I vomited on a girl once in the middle of the act," he said. "Not proud of it. But I think honesty is important between a man and wife, don't you agree? Come, I'll tell you all about it. Put you in the mood."

Sansa and Tyrion left, Dyana watching as they did. Something told her that Tyrion wasn't as drunk as he was letting on.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Robb Stark was dead. Talisa Stark was dead, along with her unborn child. Catelyn Stark was dead. The Stark soldiers were slaughtered. They were calling it 'the Red Wedding.' It was all anyone in the castle could talk about.

Sansa had now truly lost everything. Her father, executed on the steps of the Sept of Baelor. Her sister, missing the same day and presumed dead. Her little brothers burned to a crisp by Theon Greyjoy and strung up on the gates of Winterfell like decorations. And now, her elder brother, his wife, and Catelyn Stark, murdered by Walder Frey.

They'd cut off the head of Robb's direwolf and sewed it over his own. They tied him to a horse and paraded him around the yard of the Twins, chanting 'the King in the North!' all the while. Catelyn's throat was slit near to the bone, her body thrown in the river. Robb's wife, Talisa, was stabbed in the stomach, killing both her and her unborn child.

Edmure Tully, Catelyn's brother, was married off to Roslin Frey, but right after the bedding ceremony they locked him in the dungeons. Apparently, both Tullys had fought their fates. Catelyn had managed to kill Walder Frey's wife during the massacre.

Roose Bolton was the one who managed the killing blow to Robb.

Black Walder Frey killed both Talisa and Catelyn.

The slaughter all happened to the tune of Westeros's most famous song.

The Rains of Castamere.

Dyana felt sorry for Sansa. The poor girl had lost absolutely everything. Even Winterfell was taken by Theon Greyjoy. She was stuck in King's Landing, force to endure Joffrey's torture, married to Tyrion.

Dyana wanted to talk to her, but Sansa wouldn't go anywhere near the youngest Tyrell. Dyana supposed she could understand, but it still hurt. Besides, she couldn't occupy herself with Sansa's feelings.

Joffrey and Margaery's wedding was nearly upon them.

Dyana's time was filled with dress fittings and random days with Olenna, trying to plan the final touches perfectly.

Margaery was far more excited than Dyana as the days drew nearer.

Doran Martell was supposed to be in attendance, but poor health had forced him to send his brother. Oberyn Martell was a renowned fighter, and they called him the Red Viper. He was also known to be quite handsome. Dyana hoped she'd meet him.

Today, the Tyrell women were looking at necklaces for Margaery to wear. "No," Olenna stated. "No. You're a queen, not an ox."

Olenna stopped, smiling as she picked up a necklace. "Your grandfather gave me a necklace just like this one for my fifty-first nameday."

She tossed it over her shoulder. "The wedding is in a fortnight, Grandmother," Margaery reminded. "You can't say no to everything."

"Nonsense."

Olenna stepped up to address the group of handmaidens near them. "My little dears," she said. "Go and speak to the jewelers of King's Landing. Tell them who you are, tell them who sent you. The one who brings me the best necklace will get to keep the next best."

The handmaidens grinned, laughing and giggling as they ran off. Dyana chuckled at their giddiness, and the Tyrells sat. Olenna smiled at her eldest granddaughter. "The Margaery Tyrell who walks into the sept a fortnight from now will inspire a thousands songs. Now, how sad it will be if she's wearing rubbish like that."

"Perhaps I should just let Joffrey choose it for me," Margaery said. "End up with a string of dead sparrow heads around my neck."

Dyana chuckled, but Olenna was not pleased. "You watch that," she stated. "Even here, even with me and Ana."

Footsteps sounded, and the three women turned.

Brienne of Tarth stood before them, her hands behind her back. "My word," Olenna said.

"My ladies," Brienne addressed. "Please pardon me for interrupting. My name is Brienne of Tarth."

"We know who you are. We've heard all about you. But hearing is one thing. Aren't you just marvelous? Absolutely singular. I hear you knocked my grandson into the dirt like the silly little boy he is."

Dyana smiled at the large woman. "Sorry about my grandmother. Her courtesies seem to wear thinner as she grows older," she said. "Just know that in her own strange way, she's trying to compliment you."

Olenna shot her granddaughter a glare.

Brienne bowed her head, before looking at Margaery. "My lady, I know this is a very busy time for you, but if I could just have a moment."

Olenna looked over at her granddaughter. "You dare not refuse," she said.

So, Margaery left with Brienne. Which meant Dyana was alone with Olenna, who immediately hit her arm once Brienne and Margaery were gone. "Grandmother!" Dyana scolded, wincing. "What was that for?"

"The age comment," Olenna stated.

"It was only a joke."

"A bad joke, then."

Olenna rose from her chair. She didn't look at Dyana. "I'm going back inside. You're welcome to stay out here, though I don't know why you'd want to."

Dyana chuckled. "I'll stay out here."

She watched her grandmother leave their little garden seating area, smiling vaguely. She rose from her seat, looking at all of the necklaces that Olenna had deemed awful. One caught her eye.

It was a lovely necklace, though Olenna had said it was too plain. Hammered golden flowers with little emeralds set in the middle. Dyana didn't know what came over her. She picked up the necklace, clasping it around her neck.

Then, she hurried away.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

The day was here. Joffrey and Margaery would be married. Before the wedding, Joffrey and Margaery were hosting a breakfast. Mace had traveled from Highgarden to see his eldest daughter married. "From House Tyrell and the people of the Reach, Your Grace, it is my honor to present you with this wedding cup," he said, setting down the giant golden cup. "May you and my daughter Margaery drink deep and live long."

Joffrey smiled, nodding. "A handsome goblet, my lord. Or shall I call you Father?"

"I shall be honored, Your Grace."

Mace bowed before he returned to his seat beside Dyana. The youngest Tyrell rolled her eyes, fiddling with the flowers on her stolen necklace. "You didn't get me a wedding gift when I married Renly," she stated quietly, hoping that Tyrion beside her could not hear.

Mace barely looked at her. "Renly was a traitor."

"You didn't seem to care about that when you let me wed him," Dyana pointed out.

"I- - I was only doing what was best."

"It was in our best interests for me to wed a traitor?"

Mace did not answer.

A squire stepped up to the table, setting down a rather large book. Tyrion stepped forward to present his gift to Joffrey. "A book?" the king asked.

"'The Lives of Four Kings.' Grand Maester Kaeth's history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good. A book every king should read," Tyrion said.

Joffrey sighed, rolling his green eyes. Tywin and Cersei gave him a pointed look, and he spoke. "Now that the war is won, we should all find time for wisdom. Thank you, Uncle."

Dyana couldn't help but think that Joffrey almost sounded sincere. But only almost.

Tyrion bowed, returning to his seat.

A Lannister soldier stepped forward, laying a sword before the king. Tywin rose from his chair. "One of only two Valyrian steel swords in the capital, Your Grace, freshly forged in your honor," he said.

Joffrey grinned, standing and hurrying to pick up the sword. Dyana instinctively pulled her chair back from the table; she did not trust the young king with such a weapon.

He drew the sword, and excited gasps sounded around him. He tested the weight of the blade in his hands, swinging it excitedly. "Careful, Your Grace. Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel," Maester Pycelle noted.

"So they say," Joffrey replied.

He spun around, letting out a cry as he sliced Tyrion's book in two. He did not stop hacking until bits of paper were falling on the guests like fresh snow. Sansa and Tyrion watched with horrified faces, and Dyana was suddenly rigid in her chair.

Joffrey looked pointedly at Tyrion before he turned to address the people. "Such a great sword should have a name," he proclaimed. "What should I call her?'

"Stormbringer," a man offered.

"Terminus."

"Widow's Wail."

"Stannis Slayer," Dyana joked under her breath, receiving an angered look from her father.

"Wolfsbane."

"Widow's Wail," Joffrey smiled, chuckling. "I like that. Every time I use it, it'll be like cutting off Ned Stark's head all over again."

Dyana had not been there to see Ned Stark beheaded, but she was quite sure that it would have been Ilyn Payne who killed him, not Joffrey. She did not say a word, however.

Joffrey sheathed Widow's Wail, returning to his seat. Mace smiled at him as he sat.

When the breakfast was over, Dyana dressed for the wedding. She did not wear the necklace she'd taken, instead she wore one that Olenna had chosen. This necklace, she had to admit, was much nicer than her stolen one. It was silver, with a gold, circular pendant with a carefully crafted Tyrell rose at the center. At each corner, a bright sapphire was set. Olenna said that the gemstone matched Dyana's eyes.

Her dress was styled to mimic that of Cersei's, instead of her usual revealing dressed. All eyes were meant to be on Margaery, not Dyana, so the more fabric, the better. It was a pastel purple, with royal purple velvet inside of the long bell sleeves. While Cersei typically wore iron belts that mimicked armor, Dyana's dress had a silver belt with roses and thorns all around. She did not style her hair in it's usual way, instead she chose to let it fall freely over her shoulders.

She looked beautiful, and she was going to make sure that everyone knew it.

Inside the sept, everyone was quiet. They watched Margaery be led up to Joffrey with awe. Mace bowed before Joffrey, smiling at him before joining the crowd.

Joffrey took Margaery by the arm, and they turned to the High Septon, walking up the steps. Margaery turned, allowing Joffrey to cloak her in the Lannister colors.

The High Septon bound their hands together. "Let it be known that Margaery of House Tyrell and Joffrey of the Houses Lannister and Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Joffrey turned to the crowd. "With this kiss, I pledge my love," he declared.

He took Margaery's face in his hands, kissing her. Dyana fought the urge to gag, instead clapping along with the rest of the crowd. When Joffrey and Margaery stepped away, they smiled at the crowd, who, in turn, grinned at them.

But Dyana saw Olenna's smile fade. The Tyrell girl had never seen her grandmother look like this before, but she knew that it meant something was coming. And whether or not that something was good or bad, she was going to have to wait to find out.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

After the official wedding ceremony came a feast. People trailed down the paths to get to the seating area.

Entertainment had been hired for the day; stilt walkers and jugglers, fire dancers and singers. Dyana found that she was actually enjoying herself. The wine was plentiful, which she was extremely thankful for as she drank away her anxieties along with the contents of her third cup. She walked the red carpeted grounds, suddenly feeling herself crash into someone.

Wine spilled across the carpet, staining it a deep burgundy. "Shit," she cursed.

She looked up at the figure she'd hit, and was surprised to meet the dark brown eyes of a Dornishman. "You're Oberyn Martell," she said, taking a few steps away from him.

The Red Viper smiled. "That I am," he agreed. "And what is your name?"

She curtsied awkwardly as she introduced herself. "Dyana Tyrell."

"Do I frighten you, child?"

"No. And I'm not a child."

Oberyn nodded. "How old are you, then?" he asked.

"I'm nineteen," Dyana stated.

There was a chuckle from beside Oberyn, and Dyana's blue eyes met the dark ones of the woman that Oberyn held against his side. "Pardon, my lady," Dyana said, "but I don't know your name."

"You wouldn't," the woman replied. "Ellaria. Sand. I'm not a lady, I'm a bastard. Use the proper words."

"Sorry," Dyana replied.

"You are the new queen's sister?" Oberyn asked, gesturing toward the table where Margaery was sat with Joffrey.

"Queen," Dyana mumbled. "Gods, that sounds strange. But yes, I am Margaery's sister."

"She seems like she will be a good queen, but I do not know her. You know her better than I. Do you think she will be a good queen?"

"Yes. Margaery loves the people. She'll be a brilliant queen."

Oberyn let out a chuckle. "My sister was going to be a queen. Elia Martell, you may have heard of her. She was married to Prince Rhaegar, she had his children, little Aegon and Rhaenys. She would have been a good queen. Perhaps better, even, than your sister."

Dyana knew about Elia Martell. She'd been killed during the Sack of King's Landing. Raped and murdered by Gregor Clegane. It had happened nearly twenty years ago, but Dyana couldn't blame Oberyn for being bitter. Here he was in the place where his sister and her children were murdered, watching the grandson of the man who'd given the order be married.

Dyana offered Oberyn a sympathetic smile. "I'm very sorry about your sister, Prince Oberyn. But I'm sure she wouldn't want you to be upset on a day like this. We have a new queen."

Oberyn nodded. "That is true. Elia would not want me to be thinking of what happened on such a happy day."

She looked down at the carpet, letting out a sigh. "I'd best find a servant before this stain sets," she said. "It was good to meet you, Prince Oberyn. And you, Ellaria," she added the last part hastily.

He chuckled. "Don't worry about the wine. Only a quiet insult to House Lannister. I won't tell if you don't."

Dyana smiled, barely able to contain the blush rising to her cheeks. "All right," she agreed. "But I'd still best be getting back to my family. My grandmother will take notice if I'm gone too long, and I'd rather avoid an angry Queen of Thorns."

Oberyn nodded. "It was good to meet you, as well, Lady Dyana."

"Oh," she murmured. "Please, you can just call me Ana."

"All right, Ana."

Dyana turned quickly, allowing the blush to take over her face as she hurried away. But even as she left, she could feel Oberyn's dark eyes watching her.

Dyana sat beside her grandmother, adjusting in her seat. "Where have you been?" Olenna demanded.

"Making friends," Dyana replied.

"What friend is making you blush like that?"

"No one of importance."

"Dyana," Olenna stated.

"I was speaking with Oberyn Martell," Dyana finally said.

"The Red Viper. Is he as interesting as everyone says?"

Dyana only nodded.

In front of Joffrey, a group of musicians was singing the Rains of Castamere. While the singer had a lovely voice, their rendition was slow and rather boring. Margaery looked half asleep in her chair. "Very good. Very good. Off you go," Joffrey stated.

He stood, throwing a fistful of coins at the singer. Laughter sounded as the musicians scrambled to gather the coins, hurrying away. Margaery leaned over, taking her husband by the shoulder. "My love, why don't we make the announcement?"

Joffrey smiled, getting back to his feet and tapping his cup with a fork. "Everyone. The queen would like to say a few words."

Cheers and clapping arose as Margaery stood beside Joffrey. "We are so fortunate to enjoy this marvelous food and drink. Not all among us are so lucky. To thank the gods for bringing the recent war to a just end, King Joffrey has decreed that the leftovers from our feast be given to the poorest in his city."

Everyone cheered, and the music started up again. Cersei stood, moving to Margaery's side. "You're an example to us all," she said, kissing the queen on the cheek.

A few tables away, Oberyn was watching Dyana. She caught his gaze, smiling and lowering her head, fearing that Olenna would notice. But hardly anything was missed by the Queen of Thorns, and the old woman chuckled at her granddaughter. "Now I understand why you're blushing. He is quite handsome. If I weren't as old as I am- -"

"That's enough, Grandmother," Dyana interjected.

Olenna rolled her eyes. "I'll tell you when it's enough," she snapped.

Dyana sighed, rising from her seat. "Where are you going now?" Olenna asked.

"I want to speak with Lady Sansa," Dyana answered coolly.

As she moved toward Sansa's table, she took note of Brienne stepping up to greet Margaery and Joffrey. She smiled kindly at the large woman, before addressing the girl in the seat across from her. "Lady Sansa," she said. "I was very sorry to hear about your brother and mother. To kill someone at a wedding... it's entirely unlawful."

Sansa nodded, though she said nothing.

Dyana offered a sympathetic smile. "Well, in any case, you look lovely, Lady Sansa. I didn't intend for our dresses to be of a such a similar color," she said.

The Stark girl looked up at Dyana, smiling a smile that did not meet her eyes. Dyana let out a sigh, turning to address Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion. I don't believe we've properly met," she noted.

"We haven't," Tyrion agreed. "My wife tells me that there's more to you than meets the eye."

Dyana had to chuckle. "I suppose that could be true. I'm the Princess of Petals, of course I'm going to rebel against a nickname like that."

"You seem to be enjoying yourself."

"Oh, certainly. There's plenty of wine. I never had a taste for it before, but King's Landing has done something to me."

Tyrion nodded. "Yes," he said. "We're all drunks with ulterior motives here."

It was a simple statement, and Dyana was sure it was only a joke. But something about Tyrion's tone said it wasn't.

Something said that it was a warning, and Dyana was certainly going to take it as one.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

As the feast progressed and Dyana had returned to her chair, she took note of Maester Pycelle. He was wandering the feast, chatting idly with handmaidens. She snorted.

The newest entertainment was a juggler, but he wasn't very good. With every attempt he made, the balls fell to the floor. Joffrey looked to Margaery, who was trying her best not to laugh at the failed juggling. He rose. "A gold dragon to whoever knocks my fool's hat off," he stated.

The crowd laughed, throwing all variety of foods at the man, who dodged the best he could. Dyana made to pick up an apple, but Olenna grabbed her wrist. "No," the Queen of Thorns stated.

"You're no fun," Dyana stated.

The juggler ran off, ducking to avoid the flying food.

Joffrey smiled at his new wife, and she let out a wary chuckle.

When he stood again, he tapped his glass for attention. "Everyone, silence! Clear the floor," he instructed. "There's been too much amusement here today. A royal wedding is not an amusement. A royal wedding is history. The time has come for all of us to contemplate our history. My lords... my ladies... I give you King Joffrey..."

The giant gold lion's head opened, a carpet rolled out. And a dwarf dressed like Joffrey rode out on a fake golden lion. Joffrey continued. "Renly, Stannis, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy."

Renly's dwarf rode a crude puppet with a mop of blond curls, clearly meant to be Loras. Dyana felt her teeth grit.

Stannis rode a puppet of a woman with red hair, his Red Priestess.

Robb rode the puppet of a horse, however his head was covered with a fake wolf's head.

Balon seemed to be the only figure that wasn't made a mockery of in his outfit and mount.

The dwarves burst into laughter, chasing each other madly. "I'm the rightful king."

"King in the North!"

"Yes!"

The people laughed raucously, and Margaery clapped along politely. "Traitor. You're a traitor."

Even Tommen, Joffrey's little brother, was laughing. "For the Seven Kingdoms!"

Dyana lowered her head to the table, uncaring when Olenna attempted to shake her. She sang softly to herself, trying to tune out the sounds of the dwarves mocking. She didn't realize what she was singing for a moment, until she found herself singing the words 'and so he spoke, and so he spoke.' She stopped herself immediately.

"Let the war begin!"

"Renly, you're no king."

"Away, degenerate. Away. Away."

"Ooh, careful."

"Go on."

"I want you to be my prince."

Dyana raised her head, looking at Loras who was beside Mace. Loras was unimpressed, looking at the floor. Finally, he pushed his seat back, storming away. "Stannis!" the Renly dwarf cried.

"Who's got the gold now, Stark?"

The 'battle' continued, until it was only the Robb dwarf against the Joffrey one. They charged each other, the fake wolf head toppling to the ground. "Your head!" the Joffrey cried.

Dyana looked across the tables at Sansa, who watched with a cold look in her eyes. The crowd went silent, though they kept clapping. The Joffrey climbed from his mount, taking the head. Dyana looked away. The real Joffrey continued to laugh from his seat, nearly spilling the cup of wine in his hands. He tried to take a sip, only to spit the wine out as he laughed. Cersei smiled at her eldest child. Margaery looked sullenly at her husband.

The Joffrey dwarf threw the head, spreading his arms wide. "Fine gentlemen," he said.

The other dwarves hurried to his sides, and they all bowed.

Joffrey stood, clapping. "Well fought. Well fought. Here you are. Champion's purse. Though you're not the champion yet, are you? A true champion defeats all challengers. Surely there are others out there who still dare to challenge my reign. Uncle. How about you? I'm sure they have a spare costume."

Laughter sounded from the crowd. Tyrion rose slowly in his seat. "One taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace. I would like to keep what remains of my face. I think you should fight him. This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery on the field of battle. I speak as a firsthand witness. Climb down from the high table with your new Valyrian sword and show everyone how a true king wins his throne. Be careful, though. This one is clearly mad with lust. It would be a tragedy for the king to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night," he said, sitting back down.

Joffrey was frozen. He didn't know what to say. The crowd waited.

The king picked up a cup of wine, moving toward Tyrion and pouring its contents out onto his uncle. But Tyrion took it in stride. "A fine vintage," he said. "Shame that it spilled."

"It did not spill," Joffrey stated.

"My love, come back to me," Margaery said, trying to defuse the situation. "It's time for my father's toast."

"Well, how does he expect me to toast without wine?" Joffrey asked. "Uncle, you can be my cupbearer, seeing as you're too cowardly to fight."

"Your Grace does me a great honor," Tyrion said.

"It's not meant as an honor."

Dyana straightened considerably in her seat, while everyone else shrank away from the scene. Joffrey and Tyrion stared at each other for a long moment, before, finally, Tyrion rose. He stepped toward Joffrey, reaching for his cup. But the king only dropped it. When Tyrion lowered to pick up the cup, Joffrey kicked it under one of the tables. "Bring me my goblet," he stated.

Tyrion lowered beneath the table. But Sansa was the one who picked the cup up, handing it to her husband.

Tyrion held the cup out to his nephew, but Joffrey was not pleased. "What good is an empty cup? Fill it," he instructed.

So, Tyrion turned, filling the cup with wine. He held it out to Joffrey. "Kneel," the king stated. "Kneel before your king."

Tyrion did not move.

"Kneel. I said... kneel!"

Margaery watched tensely, before suddenly rising. "Look, the pie," she cried.

Everyone smiled awkwardly as applause broke out. Dyana let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Everyone rose.

Joffrey took the cup from Tyrion, handing it to Margaery who set it down. "My queen," he said.

He turned to his table, drawing Widow's Wail.

The pie was large, the crust shaped to hold the doves inside. Joffrey swung down on the center of the pie, and a burst of doves flew out. "Wonderful," Margaery grinned. "Wonderful. My hero."

Dyana felt her stomach sink when she took note of the lovely birds who had not made it out of the pie.

Servants sliced the pie, and handmaidens handed two pieces to Joffrey and Margaery. Margaery smiled as she fed Joffrey a bite.

Tyrion and Sansa started to leave, but Joffrey spotted them. "Uncle," he said. "Where are you going? You're my cupbearer, remember?"

"I thought I might change out of these wet clothes, Your Grace," Tyrion replied.

"No, no, no. No, you're perfect the way you are. Serve me my wine."

Tyrion moved away from his table. "Well, hurry up. This pie is dry," Joffrey stated.

Tyrion stepped forward, picking up Joffrey's cup from the Tyrell's table. Dyana offered him a sympathetic smile as he did so, but he said nothing.

He held the cup out to Joffrey, who took a long drink. "Mm, good," he said, continuing to drink. "Needs washing down."

"If it please Your Grace, Lady Sansa is very tired," Tyrion said.

"No," Joffrey stated, coughing into his arm. "No, you'll wait here..." he coughed again, a hand moving to his throat, "un- -" he broke out coughing, unable to continue.

"Your Grace?" Tyrion asked.

Joffrey shook his head, taking another drink. "It's nothing," he stated, breathless.

Cersei straightened, staring at her eldest child.

Joffrey began to gasp for air, looking away from the people as he clutched at his throat. Margaery's eyes went wide. "He's choking!" she cried.

"Help the poor boy," Olenna stated.

Joffrey gasped, facing the crowd. He dropped his cup, stumbling a few steps and nearly tripping over it. Olenna stood. "Idiots, help your king," she snapped.

"Move away!" someone shouted as people began to rush over.

Dyana was shaking in her seat.

Joffrey fell forward on his stomach, choking and trying to gasp for air. Jaime Lannister hurried forward. "Joffrey! Joffrey!" he stated as the king began to vomit on the ground.

"Help him!" Cersei screamed, pushing Margaery as she ran to her brother and son.

"Joffrey!"

Cersei rolled Joffrey over, holding him tightly in her arms. "Joffrey! Joffrey!"

Dyana saw a figure move to Sansa's side. It was the juggler, speaking hurriedly and quietly. "Come with me now," he said. "If you want to live, we have to leave."

Jaime started to reach for Joffrey, but Cersei shoved him away. "Don't touch him!" she shouted.

Margaery turned away. Olenna stood, staring with a horrified look on her face. Tywin did the same. Dyana stood as well, starting to move toward Sansa.

Joffrey's face went purple, blood draining from his nose, his mouth, his eyes. He tried to speak. "What is it? Help him!" Cersei begged.

He began to convulse in his mother's arms. His hand slowly raised, fingers trying to point at the figure of Tyrion, who picked up the cup from the ground. Joffrey suddenly went rigid. He was dead.

Tears began to fall down Cersei's face. "My son," she sobbed.

The crowd began to cry. "He's gone. Our king is gone."

Cersei's expression shifted to anger. Rage. She looked at her little brother. "He did this," she snarled. "He poisoned my son, your king. Take him. Take him! Take him!"

The Kingsguard took Tyrion by the arms. "Take him!" Cersei was screaming now.

She stared at Tyrion. "You did this. You did this!"

"We have to leave," the juggler told Sansa.

"Take him!"

Dyana didn't know what she was doing, but before she could even think, she was running to Sansa's side. The Stark girl looked at her, blue eyes wide. Dyana took her hand, and the girls just ran.

They didn't think about where the juggler was leading them, or what was going to happen to Tyrion. All they could do was run. Through Flea Bottom, in an alleyway. The juggler gave Sansa a cloak to wear, but had nothing for Dyana. The Tyrell girl kept her head down, staying close to Sansa's side as they moved among the people.

They didn't stop running until they reached a boat. "Get in," the juggler instructed.

"Where are we going?" Sansa asked.

"Somewhere safe."

The girls climbed into the boat, hoping that it would take them to safety.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

The girls found themselves rowing toward a ship. Sansa lowered her hood, looking up at the large wooden mass in front of them. Dyana tried to look at the sails, looking for a sigil. But she couldn't see through the fog.

The juggler pulled the boat up to the side of the ship, where there was a rope ladder. "Up you go, my lady," he told Sansa.

Sansa stared up at the deck. "You'll be fine," he encouraged. "You're stronger than you know."

She climbed up, and Dyana suddenly heard her gasp. "Lord Baelish?" the Stark girl asked.

"Petyr," he corrected.

He looked down at Dyana, who started to climb up. He stepped aside when it was time for her to get on deck. "Are either of you ladies hurt?" he asked.

"No," Dyana said, while shook her head.

"Good. Good. I'm sure you two have had quite a fright. Rest easy. The worst is past."

"Lord Baelish," the juggler spoke up from the boat. "I promised I'd get her to you safely."

"Softly, my friend," Littlefinger said. "Voices carry over water."

"I should get back before someone thinks to look for me," the man replied.

"First you'll want your pay. Ten thousand, was it?"

Petyr snapped his fingers.

"Ten thousand. Though I wouldn't mind more for bringing the other..." the juggler began.

He was cut off by a man with a crossbow stepping to the edge of the ship. "Wait!" he cried, but the man did not wait.

A bolt imbedded itself in the juggler's cheek.

Sansa let out a horrified shriek, but Dyana was quick to silence her, pressing a hand over her mouth. Littlefinger nodded to the Tyrell girl. "Shh," he encouraged Sansa. "You don't want the queen to hear, do you?"

"Margaery is queen," Dyana said, thinking that he couldn't hear.

But he heard. "Not with Joffrey dead, she isn't," he stated. "A thousand gold cloaks are searching for both of you, on Queen Cersei's command. And if they found you, how do you think they would punish the girl who murdered the king?"

"I didn't murder anyone," Sansa said.

"I know. I know. But you must admit it looks suspicious. The king who executed your father, who tormented you for years, and you fled the scene of his murder."

"Why did you kill him?" Sansa asked, meaning the juggler, lying still in the boat.

"Because he was a drunk and a fool and I don't trust drunk fools," Littlefinger answered.

"He saved me. He saved Dyana."

"Saved you? My lady, he did that on my orders. Every one of them. And he did it all for gold. You heard him, he wanted more for bringing Dyana. Money buys a man's silence for a time. A bolt in the heart buys it forever."

"He was helping me because I saved his life."

"Yes and he gave you a priceless necklace that once belonged to his grandmother."

Littlefinger reached around Sansa's neck, unclasping the necklace. "The last legacy of House Hollard," he said.

He lay it on the edge of the ship, drawing a knife and shattering one of the gems with it'd base. "I had it made a few weeks ago. What did I once tell you about the capital?"

"We're all liars here," Sansa said.

"Come, my ladies. I know you've had a difficult day. But you're safe now. I promise you that. You're safe with me and sailing home."

Littlefinger hadn't prepared for Dyana to be on his ship. He'd prepared Sansa a cabin, but not Dyana. He stopped at the nearest port possible and found a cot for Dyana, which he had put in Sansa's cabin. That night, Dyana sat on her cot. She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her dress, leaving damp trails of sweat. The ship rocked side-to-side, making her feel dizzy.

Sansa stepped up to her. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"I've never been on a ship this long. I didn't expect so much- - so much rocking," Dyana answered.

"Are you going to be sick?"

"No. I think I'm all right."

Sansa nodded. She sat down beside Dyana, who let out a sigh. "I shouldn't have left. My sister... what will happen to her?"

"I don't know," Sansa replied. "I don't think anyone would hurt her... but I can't be sure."

"Is she even the queen anymore?"

"I don't know."

Dyana hesitated a moment before she took Sansa's hand. She didn't expect Sansa to react, but the Stark girl's fingers twined with her own. "I'm glad you left," Sansa said to her. "I would've missed you if you had stayed in King's Landing."

"I didn't even think," Dyana said with a chuckle. "I just left. I don't know why."

Sansa shrugged her shoulders. Her next sentence changed the subject. "Tommen will be the king, now."

"Margaery will sink her claws into him soon enough," Dyana responded.

The younger girl let out a chuckle. She moved closer to Dyana, leaning into her side. "I didn't tell you," she said, "I really like your dress."

"I like yours, too," Dyana said. "But I'd much rather like to see you out of it."

Sansa suddenly froze. "What?" she asked.

Dyana let out a laugh. "Nothing," she replied. "It was nothing."

Sansa nodded. "All right," she murmured.

There was a pause, before Sansa let her head rest on Dyana's shoulder. "I don't trust Littlefinger," the Tyrell stated.

"He saved us," Sansa answered.

"But why? He could've left us. Left you. But he went through all of the trouble to make sure that Cersei couldn't charge you for killing Joffrey."

"He loved my mother. He feels responsible for me."

Dyana chuckled. "A man like Petyr Baelish doesn't feel responsible for anything or anyone, except maybe a whore who gets him lots of money. Then there's you. What makes Littlefinger so interested in you?"

"He loved my mother."

"And you look like your mother. Piece it together."

Sansa shook her head. "He's not in love with me."

Dyana shrugged. "Then he lusts after you. Either way, he wants something from you."

Sansa went quiet. She let go of Dyana, standing and moving to her bed. "I'm going to sleep," she said.

Dyana smiled slightly, nodding. "All right."


End file.
